The hunted

If they tear the quarry through,
One kneeling in the brambles
I will not look at them again
When I feel the musket ball
Clumped in a muscle- blood
Stench, guts a crusty scrabble,

Conspicuous. I would count the
Scant seconds hinging, small
Knobs of time nudging me into
A trench dug mud burrow,
Mottled from a life. There is no

Doubt that by this time they found
Me- bestowing intended death
Much to my dissatisfaction. She
Is on her way, my lovely, having
Heard the clap of musket fire.

A very little woman with black hair
Kneels beside me in loneliness. She
Does not have an answer, yet bundles
It as to sacrifice her feelings. She
Closes my eyes with a kiss. Useless
To my pursuers, I am now burdening death.

Copyright © 07/22/2019 lance sheridan®

The hunted

This entry was posted in Poetry.

8 comments on “The hunted

  1. MOMENTS says:

    So beautifully rich in word choices and deeply poignant. Cinematic, as if a movie had inspired you this wonderful poem. Has it?

  2. Judy Kim says:

    Wow, I think the last paragraph is especially beautiful!

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